


UnTress Me

by allison_rhianne_kent88



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Bucky Barnes's Metal Arm, First Meetings, Hair Washing, M/M, Meet-Cute, Modern Era, Post-Serum Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-16
Updated: 2016-08-16
Packaged: 2018-08-09 02:26:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7783219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allison_rhianne_kent88/pseuds/allison_rhianne_kent88
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Modern AU where Steve is a barber and Bucky has way too much hair.</p>
            </blockquote>





	UnTress Me

**Author's Note:**

> I usually don't write AU so here goes!
> 
> I do not own these characters, yadda yadda disclaimer stuff...

Steve swept around his station while Sam scrubbed scissors at the back of the salon. After dutifully plopping each pair into the sanitizer tub, Sam meandered over to his own booth and took a long drag from the Starbucks to-go cup resting on top. He sputtered and made a choking sound, forcing himself to swallow as he nearly hacked up a lung. 

“You okay?” Steve asked with a raised eyebrow.  
Clearing his throat, Sam replied, “I’ll survive.” He grimaced and lifted the lid to peek inside the cup. “I have no idea what they gave me, but it sure as hell wasn’t an extra hot soy mocha.” He trailed off muttering to himself, “lukewarm caramelly dishwater… who likes this crap… shouldn’t even be on the menu…”

Steve chuckled as Sam dithered about in a bad-coffee-induced funk then glanced at the wall clock. It was still about ten minutes until they opened, but Steve could always count on Mrs. O’Leary and her husband to arrive early, meaning that both Sam and he would be in business within the next few minutes.

Just then, the shop door gave a mighty clunk as the O’Learys attempted to heave it open. Steve sighed as he placed the broom in its corner and trekked over to the door, turning the sign to open as he prepared to greet the elderly couple in front of him. 

“Steven!” Mrs. O’Leary beamed as she entered. “Conas tá tú? We haven’t seen you in ages!”

“I’m fine, Mrs. O’Leary. How are you two doing today?”

“Fine, fine, dear.” The white-haired lady replied, bustling past Steve further into the salon. “We’ve been out to my cousin Biddy’s house for breakfast. Say, wasn’t your mother good friends with Biddy’s daughter for a while there?”

“I’m afraid I haven’t the slightest clue, Mrs. O’Leary.” Steve responded awkwardly as he always did when some Irish Brooklynite brought up his mom.

“Well, I believe—”

“Flannery, we came to get our hair cut and I intend to do so before I don’t have any of mine left!” Mr. O’Leary interrupted.

“Don’t you talk over me, Fergus O’Leary! I know where you sleep at night.” The old woman teased, swatting at her husband. “Now tell me, Steven: where is that darling Sam character?”

Sam, who had been sitting at his station waiting for the greetings to end popped up with a smile. “Nine o’clock exactly, Flannery, dear. You have impeccable timing.”  
The elderly woman tittered and made her way to Sam’s chair while Fergus planted himself in front of Steve’s mirror. 

Steve was a barber, trained in men’s shaving and hair shaping by sons of immigrants, the finest hairmen to be found. In addition to his childhood memories of Gaelic, Steve’s passable Italian was a product of his trade. Sam was also a barber, but referred to himself as a hairdresser due to his wide range of skills on both men and women, especially those with hair that flaunted its African heritage. His best training had been sitting with aunties and sisters as they braided and weaved their hair throughout various fashion trends. Occasionally, however, Sam took on clients like Mrs. O’Leary to practice his curlier perms.

After giving Fergus O’Leary’s hair its finishing touches, Steve sat back on the stool near his station while his customer slowly approached his wife to wait with her while the permanent set. Steve smiled to himself as he watched the elders hold hands and chat as Sam occasionally piped in, making them laugh at his jokes. That was the kind of easy love that Steve wanted. He knew easy wasn’t quite the right word considering these people had started dating on the tail end of a world war and had had their children as the next conflict started, but somehow these two acted like all they needed was the other’s hand firmly grasped within their own to face the world. 

When the O’Learys paid, leaving both Sam and Steve with hefty tips from Fergus and a wink from Flannery, Steve couldn’t help but to think about how much he admired their partnership. Basically he was just lonely.

Steve couldn’t seem to get out of his head all day and was looking forward to closing time so that he could go home, put on his ugly sweats from high school football, and eat some bagel bites. 

Unfortunately, Steve heard the bell above the door jingle as another customer entered. He didn’t have any other scheduled appointments that day and Sam had already left, so it had to be a walk-in. Sam had originally been wary of taking walk-ins, but Steve convinced him that they made their hours more regular and brought in a little extra cash flow. It was days like this one that had Steve questioning his own sanity.

Finally, Steve glanced up at the incoming customer, his eyes widening as he took in the sight before him. Briefly Steve wondered if they were about to be robbed or if this guy was winning the hipster-or-homeless game of the decade.

The man stood awkwardly in front of the check-in podium fiddling with a plain blue baseball cap and peering into the salon cautiously. His unkempt hair swung out from behind his ear, brushing across the stubble on his cheek that had passed the point of stylish five o’clock shadow and had solidly fallen into the scruff category. 

Steve finally hauled his ass off his stool and approached the man at the counter.

“Um… Hi.” The customer started hesitantly. “I was starting to think no one was here, but, um, your sign said open, and I, um, figured…” He trailed off, uncomfortably gesturing back at the open sign on the door with a metal prosthetic arm. It was at this point that Steve realized that the issue was not that the customer was an incredibly awkward person, but was that he, himself, Steve Rogers, was being the rudest host known to humankind. He was staring at the man with his jaw slightly dropped open and his head cocked to the side and had yet to offer a word. He forced himself to snap out of it.

“Yeah, sorry, hi!” He word-vomited. Composing himself, he continued with a smile. “What can we do for you today? Sorry for the awkwardness, my brain is just about fried from speaking with the elderly all day.”

The customer giggled, and Jesus H. Christ that must have been the cutest thing Steve had ever heard. Steve was starting to realize that underneath all that hair was an undoubtedly handsome individual. 

“It’s fine,” The dark-haired man chuckled. “A haircut and a shave, please. I, uh, I think I need one.” He laughed and gestured at himself. “Something basic and a little vintage maybe?”

“Well, you’re in the right place.” Steve grinned. “So, I’m Steve and I do most of the classic barbering here other than for natural African-American hair, which I don’t think is quite what you’re looking for, so I’ll be taking care of you. Did you want to set up an appointment or did you have the time now?”

“Now’s good. I’m Bucky, by the way.”

Steve shook the offered hand. “Nice to meet you. My station is right this way.”

Steve guided Bucky to his booth and fastened the cape around the brunet’s neck. “So, I think you’ll need a shampoo to start with.” He began.

“Probably a good idea.” Bucky let out a snort. “I’ve let it get a bit away from me at work.” 

“Oh where do you work?” Steve asked as they headed toward the shampooing sink. 

“A Wildlife Refuge about an hour and a half from here. I’m a Brooklyn boy born and raised, but it’s a little hard to do animal research here in the city unless it’s in a lab.”

“Wow, that sounds great. Have you always been a big fan of animals?”

“Yeah, pretty much. I wanted to be a vet when I was a kid, but now I can’t stand the idea of doing check-ups for rich purebred show dogs nor can I afford to work in the neighborhoods close to home. I love the area, but I couldn’t compete with the established practices unless I lowered my prices, but I can’t live on that little money.”

“Makes sense. My coworker Sam and I had the same struggle with setting up a salon. Our best compromise was to rent the spaces in this salon from a Russian woman named Natasha who could give us a great deal.”

The noise of the sink brought the conversation to a pause while Steve lathered up his client’s tresses.

“Mmm. Ahh.” Bucky moaned and gasped quietly. At this point, Steve was running his hands through Bucky’s hair under the warm water to rinse out the last of the suds. Steve resolutely did not think about those sounds. After a few more good scrubbing motions, Steve shut off the tap and wrapped his customer’s locks in a clean towel. 

Back in front of the mirror, Bucky continued their conversation. “Did you always want to be a barber?”

“Not really.” Steve answered as he toweled some of the water out of Bucky’s mane. “As a kid I wanted to go into football or be an artist, but barbering was in the neighborhood tradition and my art skills applied pretty well to hair.”

“Football, really? You have the body for it.” Bucky’s eyes widened and a blush crawled up his neck as he realized what he’d said. “Um, you know, muscular, and stuff…” He babbled, digging himself further into a hole. 

“Thanks.” Steve laughed easily. “Probably would’ve been a bad choice, though, considering my asthma and some heart problems. Don’t think any team would’ve taken me after high school no matter my ability.”

“I’m a big proponent of disabilities and illnesses never holding anyone back, but sometimes other people have an image in their mind of the ideal body for a task and they never look twice at anybody else. For example, I wanted to enlist in the army, but they made me feel pretty unwelcome with this thing.” Bucky waved his arm for emphasis. “Got trampled by a horse on a backpacking trip and didn’t get back to proper medical care until after the arm was past saving. Sure, the military had some desk options for me, but active combat duty was out of the question. I was disappointed, but I moved on.”

“Wow, Bucky, I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be. I love my life. We all have so many paths we could go on, that one just wasn’t right for me.”

“Hmm.” Steve hummed appreciatively. 

Silence fell over the two men, but there was nothing uncomfortable about it. The snipping of scissors grounded Steve and Bucky, but otherwise they seemed content to let time pass as Steve continued his task.

Finally, Steve set down the scissors and took the blow-dryer to the dark locks in front of him. As he ruffled Bucky’s tresses in the hot air, he realized how much he loved the feeling of the silky strands of the hair slipping between his fingers. He turned the machine off and gave Bucky’s ‘do a last couple of tousles with just a hint of gel. He was sad to remove his hands. 

“You have great hair.” Steve breathed just a little too dreamily.

Bucky swallowed, glad that Steve hadn’t been able to hear the involuntary hums and moans of contentment Bucky had let out over the hair dryer. “Thanks.”

“Alright. Let’s deal with this scruff here.” Steve declared, attempting to change the subject with an even tone after his blunder. He attempted to gather himself as he fetched a hot towel.

Steve had never considered a hot shave to be in any way sensual before; he was a professional after all, yet his experience with Bucky was completely different. Removing the folded towel from the brunet’s face produced images of undressing the man underneath Steve, Bucky’s noises as Steve applied a lather did things to Steve’s mind, and each razor stroke felt both delicate and strong, like a caress with underlying passion. He had to force himself to focus on the job at hand. 

Steve delicately pulled back the final cool towel and was hit with the sudden urge to kiss Bucky’s smooth cheeks. Being a professional, he restrained himself. After massaging moisturizer into his client’s face, Steve found his voice functional again, albeit a bit gravely. “You can sit up now; I’ll fix your hair.”

A beaming smile lit up Bucky’s face as he pulled himself upright.

Once Bucky’s hair was fluffed and his bill was paid, Steve found his mood dropping as Bucky made to leave. 

“Come back anytime!” He smiled as Bucky opened the door.

The freshly shaven man turned back to the barber with a grin. “I will. And maybe next time I won’t give you such a mess to deal with.”

“Bye!” Steve called.

“See ya.” Bucky responded, his voice and eyes going a bit serious despite the grin.

Steve watched Bucky walk away before returning to his station for cleanup. He sighed as he gathered towels to take to the hamper.

Suddenly he heard the bell. “Steve?” a voice called. A voice that sounded promisingly like Bucky’s. 

“Yeah?” Steve dropped the towels into their bin and hurried over to the front desk.

“Would you want to go to dinner with me? Like tomorrow? Around seven?”

“It’s a date.” Steve beamed. “What are we eating?”

“Italian?” Bucky suggested hesitantly.

“A man after my own heart.”

Bucky laughed and pulled out a piece of paper. He scrawled a few digits on it with a pen and handed it to Steve. “There’s my number; I’d love if you’d use it.” Bucky bit his lip sheepishly.

“Will do.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I am not a barber nor even a man, so I know very little about the reality of haircuts and shaves; please forgive my mistakes! Comments and kudos would be appreciated!


End file.
